He looked at the snowman. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“It will be if you help me lift the head onto it.”
He stared at the giant ball in front of him and raised an eyebrow.
She flushed. Perhaps her intentions behind her design were somewhat obvious.
“Dare I ask how you were planning to decorate it?” He lifted the head onto the body.
She pulled out the cravat she’d tucked up the sleeve of her pelisse. “I raided your wardrobe.”
“And this was all you took?”
“It was all I liked,” she said wryly.
“You wound me.” His fist thumped against his chest.
Ignoring his teasing, she faced the snow giant in front of her. Wrapping the cravat around its neck was one thing. The actual tying of a knot was another. Despite being an expert on fashionable knots, she had no idea how to actually create one.
“Here.” His breath was warm against her ear as he reached past and took the loose ends. Encircled in his arms, goose bumps prickled over her skin, and it became more and more difficult to breathe. She was aware of him in a way that she’d never been aware of a person before. It was infuriatingly paralyzing.
She tried to focus on what he was doing, but the press of her back against his chest overwhelmed every other sense. He tied a hunting knot with startling speed, but it was a long moment between finishing and dropping his hands. When he did, they rested on her hips.
“There,” he said. His voice was as strangled as she felt.
She turned to face him, pivoting within the embrace of his arms. She didn’t step back, though, and from this distance, she could see the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard. His eyes sparked with the heat she felt.
“You are a man of surprising talents.” Hopefully he couldn’t discern the effort it took to verbalize a comprehensible sentence.
“I went to Oxford.”
“Really? I was unaware.” A distant part of her registered this new information as highly agreeable, but the primal present part could only focus on the soft curve of his lips as he spoke.
“It wasn’t a good fit. I only stayed a year.” He sounded equally distracted, and his eyes didn’t leave her mouth.
“Why did you go? It doesn’t seem like you.”
“I was trying to please my mother.” He didn’t elaborate but his jaw clenched, and he diverted his gaze.
It was an unexpected sight, this big brawny male so vulnerable. It elicited a tenderness she rarely felt. Impulsively, she raised a hand to his face and stroked her thumb along his cheekbone. “You are stubborn and frustrating, Benedict Asterly, but you’re a good man. I’m sure your mother would be proud.”
“I don’t want to think about her right now.” His hands tightened on her hips and set her insides tingling.
“What do you want to think about?”
He didn’t answer. And in the heavy silence, every one of her senses heightened. The smoky, earthy scent of him made her dizzy. His breathing filled her ears. Every inch of her was drawn to him.
Kiss me. Kiss me.
He cupped the back of her head in his hands and leaned down, his lips drawing closer.
Kiss me.
She swayed toward him. As his lips touched hers, a shiver coursed from her frozen toes to her snow-flecked hair. They were every bit as soft as they looked. And warm. She leaned into him, surrendering to her body’s need to be closer.
He groaned and wrapped an arm around her, his fingers tightening in her hair. Her body responded by drawing tight—her toes curled, her hands crushed his lapels, and her stomach tensed.
It was everything and nothing. A pleasure that made no sense and complete sense. It was a feeling of floating and a grounding earthiness all at once. It was an experience logic could not explain.
